


If The World Were Ending

by drowninglinguists



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 00:44:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5185739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drowninglinguists/pseuds/drowninglinguists
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A slightly AU piece that takes place during the Fourth Shinobi War. Shikamaru's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If The World Were Ending

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to Panic! at the Disco's "Do You Know What I'm Seeing" while I wrote this, if anyone is interested in listening to it while you read as a companion.

**I know it's mad**

**But if I go to hell**

**Will you come with me or just leave?**

**I know it's sad**

**But if the world were ending**

**Would you just kiss me or just leave me?**  
  
\- Do You Know What I’m Seeing? - Panic! at the Disco

 

Bodies. Zetsu’s clones adapted Yamato-san’s wood jutsu a few days ago, and at first it hadn’t been that bad, if only because Yamato himself was a clone of the First Hokage so his own jutsus were less--had they made clones of the First Hokage, they’d all be fucked. But it isn’t that bad, so long as you know how to kill them. Stabbing it through the chest seems to work best, like a real human’s death. They don’t bleed, but Shikamaru swears every time they drop the more and more he can only smell blood.

 

The Fourth Division is doing well, by his calculations. They’ve lost men, and Shikamaru mourned them, but he has his own life to think about, the lives of his comrades, the lives of those he cares about. A few Iwa nin aren’t going to mess him up (anymore).

 

“ _Argh_!”

 

One Suna nin could, though.

 

“Temari!” He calls, throwing an exploding tag into the zetsu which had just attempted to tear through her leg with a katana.

 

She doesn’t flinch at the explosion, doesn’t move a muscle at all. It’s probably taking every ounce of will she has to stay on her feet. _Stubborn woman_.

 

The din of battle is dimming, and he tells himself that’s the only reason he goes over to her. Because he can afford it, because she’s a comrade, because she’s hurt.

 

“Thanks,” she manages, a wry smile pulling up her lips.

 

It’s absolutely nothing like the ridiculous grin he’s used to, or the smirk she sometimes wears, and even less like the small smiles she sometimes sends his way when she thinks he isn’t looking. There is pain in her expression, expertly hidden, cleverly stashed away behind the bones of her jaw, but there. He sees it, at least.

 

“What happened?” She is a long-range fighter, mid-range _maybe_. She shouldn’t have gotten so close to one. He hadn’t been as worried about her because she _wasn’t supposed to_ get close to any of them.

 

All the Zetsu are close-range fighters. She’s at an advantage.

 

“Chakra,” she manages curtly, “decided to use some taijutsu instead. It was behind me. Didn’t see it.”

 

Anger pulls at him. _Didn’t see it?!_ _How did you not see it?!_ He tries to breathe, to stay in control of his emotions. They’re at war. Now isn’t the time.

 

“Let me see.” He crouches before she can respond, tell him not to.

 

She stands as still as she can, leaning on her fan now instead of her good leg.

 

It’s bleeding, but it looks fairly shallow. The kind of thing Ino could probably heal. _Although this person would probably insist she was fine_.

 

He stands, makes every effort not to give away a physical indication that he’s noticed how hard it is for her to stand up right now.

 

“It’s not bad.”

 

She snorts, wobbles dangerously under her good leg. That’s the exhaustion, though, from the fifth straight week of fighting. Shikamaru doesn’t know how many men they’ve lost, and he doesn’t care to count. She’s still alive, so it’s the exhaustion, nothing that bad. That’s just it. She’s tired. Everyone is tired.

 

“Get it checked out when you can, though.” He adds, and despite his effort to use his usual disinterested voice, her eyes are shining at him and he can tell she sees through it.

 

“That an order, Commander?” The teasing comes out tiredly; on anyone else he’d think she was succumbing.

 

He doesn’t speak to it and instead lets his eyes roam the horizon. Things seem to be quieting down now. And though Shikamaru is fairly certain he actually prefers the period of fighting to the hours on hours spent _waiting_ for the fighting to start, it’s good news for Temari. Her leg needs a minute.

 

He gives a short nod in response to her wordless question, and they slowly sit down together.

 

His muscles groan with relief at being relaxed, and no matter how he tries to will himself to get up again, that he _needs_ to be able to get up at a moment’s notice or _people are going to die_ , _his_ people, he can’t manage it just now.

 

“What I’d give for one of those Akimichi Soldier Pills,” she mutters, “my chakra’s low.”

 

It’s thoughtless. He reaches into his hip pouch and pulls out a small bag of them. “Here,” his voice is relatively normal, but his fingers shake when he pulls out one and puts it in her hand. Touching her is still unfamiliar territory. Exhausted as he is, he’s not as much in control as he should be. “Take it if you have to. The side effects are best slept off.”

 

She stores it, nodding in thanks. “What are the side effects?”

 

“Muscle cramping, blood coagulation,” he makes himself shrug, “at the worst, you’ll pass out.”

 

“Great.” He can see it in her eyes, the disdain for the vulnerability being so strong moments before would cost her. He almost smirks.

 

“Like I said, take it if you have to.” The shrug is easier this time.

 

He knows she’s seen the soldier pills at work, seen Chouza and his father conduct a sparring match that citizens of Konoha outside the Nara and and Akimichi and Yamanaka clans _rarely_ see, let alone shinobi from another village, seen the way their chakra skyrocketed and teemed with energy, the ease with which they threw themselves on their opponents, the bonus strength which made them practically impervious. At least for a few minutes.

 

They’d left, off on another Escorting Mission, before the backlash could take effect though.

 

He’d never told her what the significance was that she’d seen the event. Didn’t plan on telling her.

 

There was a chance she’d figured it out--Chouji’s mother’s surprise had been quick, but it had been there, but the overall distinct _lack_ of confusion as to why she was there with him had been apparent--she was smart, she noticed things almost as much as he did.

 

She probably wasn’t planning on saying anything, either.

 

That’s what he liked about her. She knew when to keep quiet.

 

He looks at her again, elbow on her knee, chin in her palm, slight smirk on her face.

 

Well, that wasn’t the _only_ thing.

 

“It kind of feels like the world’s ending.” She muses aloud, lightly, easily, like she were talking about the weather. But in her home, they get storms of dust that regularly asphyxiate people, forty or four, so maybe this _is_ how she talks about the weather.

 

“Maybe it is. Maybe when this is all over, everything will change.”

 

He doesn’t necessarily _mean_ the double meaning, but he’s not going to take it back or try to cover it up, either.

 

She just smiles. Not like Ino, not like Sakura, not like Hinata, not like Tenten-- she smiles like she shouldn’t be, like if the wrong person catches her she’ll get a reprimand. She smiles like it’s a secret.

 

“What would you do, then? If the world were really ending?”

 

Hundreds of things flash through his mind--though that’s not unique to this one question--too many of which involve her, and in the end he just points up.

 

“Of course,” she rolls her eyes, and now her smile _is_ like a secret. It’s bigger, like she actually _likes_ that in his last minute of existing he’d watch the clouds instead of doing something important. She’d probably do something important. She’s that sort of person to make her last minute count.

 

“What would you do?” He asks, because this game they play is dangerous, but these days _everything_ is dangerous and at least with her there’s a chance she’ll smile.

 

She takes her time, confidently leaving his heart to race, faster than even his thoughts, musing over the last thing she’d ever like to do.

 

He doesn’t see her left hand raise, he only feels it in his hair. He watches her lean toward him, watches her eyes close, watches her lips part, feels his own eyes close out of pure _instinct_. All thought has left his brain, and Temari’s kissing him.

 

He kisses back, and the power of thought abruptly returns to him. _I have to remember this_ , he thinks, _especially if it’s never going to happen again_.

 

She should taste like sweat or dirt or something gross and unpleasant, but the only thing he feels is heat and sparks and a desire to do it again. Everywhere else. Anywhere else. Not on a battlefield. In front of people. In front of his parents. In front of her brothers. For longer. Seconds, minutes, hours, days-- flashes run through his mind, Nara clan symbols and white dresses and _finally_ seeing what she looks like with her hair down.

 

She pulls back, her hand drifts from his head to his shoulder, and inclines her head the slightest bit, cheeks pink. “That’s what I’d do.”

 

Her hand drags itself off his shoulder, down his arm, and then leaves him completely.

 

He didn’t even touch her apart from his lips. He’s an idiot. She’s a lot smarter than he is, a lot braver. She deserves better.

 

The whole of Konoha, the whole of the Fourth Division, the entire _war effort_ deserves a better leader, but if everyone expects this of him, that’s got to mean he at least has a _chance_ of doing it, right? People wouldn’t expect great things of him if they didn’t think he could do it.

 

His opinion of her is no different, except he’s actually seen her do these things.

 

It’s messy and he feel like he’s twelve, entranced by her, angered and annoyed that he’s entranced, and unable to stop wondering _why_ the universe keeps making him fight girls, but he covers her hand with his.

 

Her hands are big for a woman, but she at least doesn’t move away.

 

They sit for a while longer, not holding hands exactly, just sort of touching, and Shikamaru gradually learns how to breathe again.

 

Ino finds them--he swears sometimes she can _actually_ read minds, not just go inside them--and smiles, doesn’t make a big deal at all about the _touching_.

 

Temari smiles back, doesn’t move her hand away, explains that she hurt her leg and that he, Shikamaru, helped her.

 

He half-listens, knowing he’d be able to respond if either of them talk to him just fine, thinking about how the two kunoichi he knows the best continue to surprise him. Ino just _let it go_ , didn’t say a word about it, no eyebrow waggle, nothing. Temari _didn’t move her hand away_ , didn’t make a joke, didn’t address it at all or make a move to cover it up.

 

The war’s changing them all, and it’s the first time he thinks it might be a good thing.

 

“Stand up, let me see,” Ino instructs, “I’ve got some chakra left.”

 

“It’s fine,” Temari waves off the concern, standing to prove her point, “I’ve been sitting, not using it. I’m sure it’s healed up.”  
  
The _I knew it_ runs through Shikamaru’s head, smile in tow, before he can stop it.

 

“Ah, that must be why your leg is shaking.” Ino’s voice is unimpressed. Her hands are probably on her hips.

 

Temari says nothing, but Ino’s frowning now.

 

“Your girlfriend sure is stubborn, Shikamaru.” Her hands probably aren’t on her hips. She’s probably smirking.

 

He sighs.

 

 _There_ it is. Turns out he still knows Ino pretty well after all.

 

“Help me walk.” Temari says. It sounds like an order, and even though _he’s_ the one that’s supposed to order her around, he sighs and puts an arm around her.

 

He doesn’t ask, but she answers anyway.

 

“It’s not that I _can’t_ walk, but I want it to be as easy as possible for Ino to heal me.”

 

“Makes sense,” he says. And that’s it.

 

Ino walks next to them, smiling to herself about something Shikamaru is _sure_ he’ll hear about later, the _second_ Temari isn’t next to him. It’s just more incentive to make sure she is.

 

They make it back to camp, Ino takes over helping Temari make it to the medic tent, and Shikamaru sticks his hands in his pockets and tries not to think about how _good_ she smelled caked in dirt and dried sweat.

 

He ends up playing Shougi with a shinobi from Kirigakure. He doesn’t remember the guy’s name, but he’s nice enough. He isn’t _bad_ , but it still takes six moves to defeat him. He’s gathering up a crowd of Kiri shinobi, who apparently are _all_ better than the guy he beat, when Ino finds him again.

 

“Sorry,” he tosses over his shoulder when he turns and leaves. The men grumble--they can probably tell he doesn’t mean it in the slightest.

 

They’re going to see Temari, which means his heart’s picked up again and his palms are sweating a little. What if she’s hurt? She’s probably not hurt, he can remember that she’s tough and strong as steel, but he worries anyway, even though he just saw her.

 

He doesn’t ask how she is.

 

Ino doesn’t answer.

 

She holds aside the tent flap for him, he pushes down the slight irritation, even five years later, that a _girl_ is holding open a door for him, and goes inside. Ino’s smile burns his cheeks as he passes her.

 

Temari’s leg is wrapped in bandages which are all almost entirely white. Either she isn’t bleeding that badly, they’ve been kept miraculously clean, or both. The only one important to him is the first.

 

He makes sure his hands are in his pockets, and then he makes sure to slouch.

 

“How’s your leg?”

 

He’s gotta have the body language if he can’t have the disinterested voice.

 

“Ino fixed it right up,” Temari says, all business, “I can fight.”

 

“Good.” He says, and that’s it. No more words. Just staring.

 

No more touching, either. Which he _knows_ he misses more than the words.

 

It’s silent between them, understood, filling their lungs along with oxygen and carbon dioxide, but he feels the need to say it anyway. He’s trying to be _better_ , right? Better for other people, yes, but better for _her_ too. He’s through denying that. So even though there’s no need to say it, he says it anyway.

 

“What you _did_ ,” he tries not to feel twelve, “we should do that again some time. When the world isn’t ending.”

 

The three seconds it takes her to respond nearly suffocate him, but under the weight of _promise_ , _potential_ , _sparks_ , _complicated_ , _her smile_ , the _memory of her lips_ anyone could understand how he’d fallen.

 

“Sounds good.”

 

She sounds breathless, and that’s probably the only reason he doesn’t combust on the spot.

 


End file.
